


Reconnaissance

by berreh



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Headcanon, Hurts So Good, Implied Relationships, Loki Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 09:56:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8158054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berreh/pseuds/berreh
Summary: Sif seeks an audience with the king. (Takes place during the first Thor movie.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> written June 12, 2011, entirely inspired by the first time I saw this GIF:

 

* * *

 

Sif made no attempt to mask her footsteps as she strode down the hall, letting her boots on the marble announce her approach long before she turned the corner to face the guards. There were two of them, two of the strongest warriors consigned to guard the Casket of Ancient Winters, now plucked from their sworn duty to tend a different but no less dangerous incendiary. Both guards knew her well, but neither acknowledged her, only slanted their spears together to block her path as she stopped before the golden doors.

“I would speak to L— to the king.”

One guard remained stone-faced. The other eyed her. “Are you expected?”

“Of course I’m not expected. That’s why I’m asking.”

“No one may come into the king’s presence without his permission,” the guard said.

“Then go in there and get it.”

“For what purpose?”

Sif gritted her teeth, but before she could reply she heard a mild voice from within.

“It’s alright, Hrimhari. Lady Sif may come in.”

The spears moved aside, and the guards resumed ignoring her. Glaring at them, Sif pushed the heavy doors open and entered the chamber.

Loki always kept his bedroom dim – the fire too small to put out any warmth, the lamps too low to do more than throw shadows on the walls, turning warm gold to cool silver. The bed was turned down but not yet disturbed; near the hearth, draped over a chair, hung the discarded green folds of the royal cape. Loki stood at the dressing table, removing his left gauntlet; before him lay all the other pieces of his armor, arranged in perfect order, his coat on its peg and his helmet on its pedestal. In his shirt and breeches, his hair loose along his neck, he glanced at Sif’s reflection in the mirror as she approached. He said nothing, only stood there, until she clenched her jaw and touched a fist to her breast.

“My king.”

He turned then and faced her, leaning against the dressing table. “You look troubled, Lady Sif. How may I be of service?”

“Loki—” She took a step forward, then thought better of it when she saw his face. “Your Highness. I have come here to beg you to reconsider your decision.”

He began unfastening his shirt cuffs with small flicks of his fingers. “Has it always been your habit to petition the king at this hour? I don’t recall you ever asking to enter my father’s bedroom in the middle of the night.” The last button came away and he met her eyes. “Not even to beg him.”

“Loki, you must call Thor back from Midgard. Surely you—”

“Must?” Loki tilted his head. “I must? That doesn’t sound like a request, Lady Sif. That sounds like a command.” His smile vanished. “But of course it couldn’t be, since I give the commands in Asgard.”

He came up from the table and walked toward her, his hands clasped lightly behind his back. “I _could_ be wrong, but I believe I’ve already made myself clear on this matter. Having my orders questioned twice in one day is... disappointing.”

It took all her effort to unclench her fists, and still more to keep her voice calm as she bent her head. “Forgive me, my king.”

She stayed as she was until his shadow fell across her. One long finger tilted her chin up; a string of black hair dangled near his cheek as he looked down at her and smiled.

“I always have,” he said.

“Why won’t you let anyone see the Allfather?”

“He is not an object to be gawked at.”

“He needs to know we are here.”

“He needs to be left in peace.”

“We all worry for him.”

“None of you more than I. He’s my father.” Something flitted across his face and was gone. “I will not disobey his wishes. Odin sent Thor away, and we must all accept that. Even you. I am king now. The people can come to me with their needs.” He touched a strand of her hair. “Should they have any.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” He drew a finger down her neck, tracing the line of the mail shirt she wore beneath her leather bodice. “Imagine my surprise, hearing Lady Sif’s footsteps outside my bedroom door after all this time. How long has it been?”

“Not long enough,” she snapped. “I am not that foolish girl anymore, Loki. Save your sugared tongue for someone who doesn’t know what you really are.”

His eyes flashed. “And what is that?”

What she saw in those eyes almost cracked her composure — she ignored the chill of terror that shivered down her spine, and the warmth between her thighs that followed it, and then she reached up and removed his hand from her neck.

“You are the king. And the king must do what is best for his people, not what serves his own selfish desires.”

The hand she had rejected shot out and gripped her by the hair, dragging her head back until she grunted in pain. Loki loomed over her, baring his teeth. His upper lip twitched with barely controlled fury.

“I  _am_  the king,” he hissed. “And you would do well to remember it. You serve  _me_  now.”

“I am bound by oath to fight for the king of Asgard,” Sif said. “I serve no man.”

He jerked her to him until her bodice smacked against his shirt, crushing her to his chest. It drove the breath from her, and she felt his heart beat faster when she gasped; cold fire sparked in his eyes as he smiled down at her, slow and serpentine, until his teeth glittered in the shadows.

“No, not a girl anymore. But still foolish.”

“Take your hands off me.”

“Or what? What did you think would happen here? Did you think to come into my bedchamber and use your charms to rule me as you rule all the others? Me?” His smile curdled into a snarl. The vein in his neck strained with his pounding heart. “You said you came here to beg. I suggest you start now.”

His fingers twisted her hair until she winced – when she did, he bit his lip and twisted again. His free hand slid up her back, pinning her against him, nails digging into her bodice as he tightened his grip. Sif remembered those hands. They still haunted her dreams, and they still fueled her nightmares. Loki bent his head to brush his lips against the skin behind her ear. His breath ran cold down her neck.

“You always did put up such a good fight.”

Sif closed her eyes. She leaned into him and felt him shudder — felt his fingers tighten brutally in her hair, his soft lips moving on her skin, his breath catching when she slid a hand down his waist and slipped it between them. She pressed against warm leather until she found him, hard and dangerous, throbbing when she curled her fingers and squeezed — a single stroke, long and slow, until his gasp became a moan. Against his ear, she smiled.

“You didn’t.”

Her other hand pressed the knife she kept in her bodice to the white flesh beneath his jaw.

Loki stiffened against her. Slowly he eased back, chin raised, licking his lips, glaring at her over the knife denting the skin of his throat. Its blade glittered in time with his pulse. Sif looked at him with loathing.

“You have no love for Asgard, nor for any of us. There is nothing in your heart now but hatred and ice.”

Her blade trembled beneath his jaw. A single drop of blood pearled on its edge. Above it, Loki smiled.

“You have no idea.”

He brought his head down and sent her flying.

Her knife clattered out of reach as she hit the floor, spitting blood on the stone — but she had barely touched the ground before she sprang up and leaped for him. Her fist met his jaw, touched nothing but air, and she fell sprawling to her belly — the double vanished, and she heard Loki laugh in the shadows. She spotted her knife and dove for it, but he was on her before she reached it. They rolled across the floor, tumbling over each other, until Sif twisted free and threw Loki to his back, straddling him long enough to get in two good punches before he brought his knee up and caught her between the shoulder blades. The blow knocked the wind from her and she fell forward; he used the momentum to flip them both over and pin her to the floor, stretched out at full length, held down by his weight and his hands pinioning her wrists above her head.

“Admit it, lady,” he said. “You still think of this.”

Sif’s heart pounded in her ears. Her hands writhed in his grip as she shifted her weight, trying to find leverage. Loki bore down without mercy, pinning her with his hips, crushing her with his chest, grinning at her as she struggled. He moved his hips again, and the grin receded. Loki lowered his head, a string of his hair falling across her face, and licked the drop of blood from the corner of her mouth. His voice rasped thin and hissing in her ear.

“I have the power to give you anything you want.” His breath raised goose-flesh along her neck. “The nine realms will be on their knees before us.”

Sif’s struggles waned. Her body relaxed, going soft beneath his weight. Loki drew one knee up, aligning his hips to hers as his fingers tightened on her wrists. Sif waited until his thighs had parted enough, and then she slammed her knee between them and wrenched an arm free to backhand him across the room.

He rolled to his haunches, crimson with fury, snarling through his teeth. Sif got to her feet and looked down at him, breathing hard.

“There is nothing I want from you, Loki,” she said. “Except your brother.”

A choked sound came from Loki’s throat. Something terrifying twisted behind his eyes. His face contorted with rage as he glared at her from between the disheveled strings of his black hair.

“You treasonous bitch. I could have your corpse stuck on a pole for my target practice.”

“You could,” Sif said. “But you won’t.”

“Oh? And why is that? Because I care for you?”

“Because you know your father can still see you.”

The color drained from Loki’s face. He drew in a breath and let it out, and slowly the venomous fury twisting his features ebbed into a pale, eerie calm. Carefully, he drew himself up to his full height and tugged his crumpled shirt into place. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back into slick, perfect order, and then he walked forward to the place where Sif stood. She raised her chin and met his stare — if she was going to die, she would do it on her feet looking death in the eye. But there was no anger left in Loki’s face. Instead he only smiled at her, a smile that did not reach his eyes.

“We are what the Allfather has made us,” he said. “All of us.”

Something in his face pricked a pinhole in her revulsion, and a tiny sliver of pain stabbed at her heart. There was an emptiness in eyes that shook her to the core. In all her life she had never seen any creature look so utterly alone. She reached up to touch his face.

“Loki...”

“Get out. You had your chance. You've shown where your loyalties lie.”

He jerked free of her and turned away to face the fire dwindling in the hearth. Sif stood there in silence for a moment, and then she retrieved her knife from the floor and slipped it back into her bodice.

“With Asgard,” she said. “Always. And I know that in your heart, yours do too. I just pray that you will remember it before it’s too late. When you do, I will be here to fight with you.” She touched a fist to her chest. “My king.”

Loki did not turn around. Sif watched the firelight flicker across his pale face, and then she turned and walked out, leaving him alone in the cold chamber.


End file.
